


it's always about needing

by mybelovedcheshire



Series: La Maison de l'ABC [5]
Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, technically everyone's involved but those are the main players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/pseuds/mybelovedcheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is too tipsy to be talking to anyone. Enjolras finally opens up to Courfeyrac about something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Purpose

Courfeyrac and Combeferre huddled over Combeferre’s laptop, quietly discussing something Grantaire couldn’t hear. Jehan was holding down the edges of a banner for Feuilly while he painted — Bahorel was mocking them while they worked, but he wasn’t idle either. Everyone in the house seemed to be doing something.

Everyone except, evidently, for Enjolras.

Grantaire snorted.

“Do you think he realises that he couldn’t actually function without you all?” Grantaire asked, curling up in his chair.

Courfeyrac and Jehan looked up. Combeferre kept typing.

Grantaire carried on with a telling drawl. “I mean, this stuff aside—” He waved his hand. “He physically needs you in his daily life. He wouldn’t survive.”

Bahorel muttered: “Sounds familiar.” Feuilly smirked.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, I can remember to eat on my own.”

Joly and Bossuet peered around the fireplace. They’d been working in the kitchen, but Grantaire had caught their attention.

“He’s busy,” Courfeyrac explained.

“He forgets he’s human,” Grantaire countered.

It spoke volumes that no one needed to say ‘his’ name. They’d all known exactly who Grantaire was referring to from the start.

Grantaire grunted and shrugged. “Maybe he isn’t. But he only eats and sleeps because Combeferre tells him to.”

Combeferre didn’t answer.

“Courfeyrac buys his clothes for fuck’s sake.”

Bahorel and Feuilly exchanged disbelieving looks.

Courfeyrac glanced at the floor. “It’s better than letting him dress himself.”

Bahorel stared. “Are you serious?”

But Grantaire wasn’t finished. “If he coughs, Joly’s got a lozenge. I’m actually positive he’s got a crush on Feuilly. Bossuet’s the only one in this whole fucking house who gets his sense of humour— although, maybe you just laugh at everything.” (He did, but was also fond of Enjolras’s sarcasm.) “And Jehan!”

Jehan’s eyes widened.

“Did you know,” Grantaire sat up in defiance of Combeferre’s sudden, severe glare. “That Jehan /cuts his hair/.” Combeferre covered his face with his hand.

“It looks good,” Jehan answered.

Bahorel folded his arms over his chest as Courfeyrac tried to intervene. “I don’t do anything for him,” he said.

Grantaire snorted. Twice. Bahorel raised an eyebrow.

“Does ‘destruction of government property’ ring any bells?”

Feuilly stifled a smirk. Bahorel’s expression remained neutral for a moment.

But then he deflated. It was a fair point. Grantaire looked smug.

“I’m just saying,” the cynic told them. “He /needs/ you guys. He literally needs you.”

There were mixed emotions at that. Joly and Bossuet smiled — they liked that they could help. The camaraderie they all shared meant a lot to them. But Feuilly and Jehan were more aware of how Grantaire hadn’t assigned himself any purpose.

And from Grantaire’s point of view — he had none. It would have been ridiculous to pretend. He was a cynic — he was the thorn in their sides and a tear in the fabric of their collective faith. He could drink with them. He could live with them.

But he couldn’t be one of them.

He knew that.

“And what about you, Grantaire?” Enjolras called from the balcony on the second floor. He’d heard most of what Grantaire had said. ““What do I need you for?”

Grantaire looked up. He smiled as he replied: “You don’t.” 

Enjolras’s expression was stoic. “And as usual — you’re wrong.” He walked away.

Grantaire blinked and looked down.

No one else spoke.

Grantaire glanced at Bahorel, and then Courfeyrac, and then finally at Combeferre.

They all looked just as surprised as he did.

He lunged out of his chair.

Bossuet stepped out of the way as Grantaire sprinted for the spiral staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Enjolras had retreated into his room.

Grantaire walked right in. He very rarely went into Enjolras’s room — he had a habit of lingering on the threshold, but never crossing over it.

He marched in and stopped in the middle. Enjolras was fiddling with an mp3 player.

“What’s my purpose?” Grantaire demanded.

Enjolras didn’t look at him.

Grantaire was a little too drunk to let the matter drop. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras pursed his lips. But he did raise his eyes. He fixed them on Grantaire with a dark, potent stare. “You are my reminder.”

Grantaire’s gaze narrowed. “Of what?”

“Of what happened to Icarus.”


	2. consequences

“Enjolras” Courfeyrac whined. “What did you dooo.”

Enjolras stared blankly at the book in his lap.

Jehan and Courfeyrac lingered at his door. Bossuet stood behind them.

“You said something to Grantaire,” Jehan explained. “Something about Icarus.”

Enjolras slammed his book shut and rolled his eyes. “Please go away.”

But — loud noises aside — ‘go away’ never worked on Courfeyrac. He grabbed Jehan’s hand and moved into Enjolras’s room. Bossuet followed, and shut the door behind them.

“He’s upset,” Bossuet added quietly. “We just want to know why.”

“How the fuck should I know?” Enjolras snarled. “What makes you think I understand anything Grantaire does?”

“It’s not what Grantaire did that worries us,” Courfeyrac replied carefully.

Enjolras’s eyes sparked.

“We just want to know what you said, Enjolras,” Jehan told him.

Enjolras pulled one knee up to his chest and braced his arm against it. His hand covered his face as he grumbled.

“Enjolras,” Jehan repeated. There was a subtle hint of authority to his tone that made Courfeyrac shiver.

“For the love of God—”

Bossuet calmly reminded him: “If you tell us, we’ll stop bothering you.”

Enjolras’s free hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Why did everything in his life seem to come back to Grantaire? And on the one occasion that he’d actually bothered to be grateful for the cynic’s presence?

“He asked me what his purpose was,” Enjolras told them. “He asked ‘What’s my purpose?’ and I told him — he reminds me… not to be Icarus.”

Courfeyrac blinked. Jehan’s eyes narrowed.

And then Bossuet and Courfeyrac simultaneously wailed: “AWWWWW.”

Enjolras grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at them.

Only Jehan was unconvinced. Grantaire was far too sulky for that to have been the whole truth. “Is that exactly what you said?”

Enjolras’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

Courfeyrac glanced at Jehan. Jehan pursed his lips.

“I said he was a reminder. He asked ‘Of what?’ and I said, ‘Of… what happened to Icarus.”

Bossuet groaned. Jehan’s expression relaxed.

Courfeyrac murmured: “Oh, Enjolras…”

Enjolras dropped his hand and hissed: “What?”

Courfeyrac shook his head, but he smiled. Bossuet pulled the door open and slipped out. Now that they knew they needed to rectify the error as quickly as possible — preferably before Grantaire could get into a second bottle.

But Enjolras was bordering on livid. He was aware that there were things his friends seemed to understand that he didn’t — generally he was fine with it, because what they understood were things he didn’t care about. But he didn’t like being blamed for Grantaire’s melancholy, especially when — to his knowledge — he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Jehan explained: “What you said and what Grantaire heard are completely different.”

Enjolras’s nostrils flared.

“You were referring to yourself, but Grantaire would never think of you as Icarus.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Enjolras — you’re the /sun/.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. His already irate expression became even more severe as his eyebrows knitted together.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t the sun, and he wasn’t Apollo, and he wasn’t anything that they teasingly called him.

If he was anyone, he was Adrestia.

He sulked.

Jehan murmured to Courfeyrac: “I’ll go help Bossuet. Courfeyrac nodded.

He shut the door behind Jehan — and locked it.

Enjolras didn’t notice. He had his head down, and a dark glower in his eyes.

Courfeyrac padded over to Enjolras’s bed and climbed in.

“I have another question.”

Enjolras didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched — he was listening.

“Have you had sex with Jehan?”


	3. result

Enjolras closed his eyes.

Courfeyrac sat cross-legged on Enjolras’s bed. “You don’t have to tell me, obviously. But I’d like to know.”

Enjolras was silent for quite some time. Courfeyrac didn’t interrupt. He could be calm when he tried. But eventually Enjolras took a deep breath and asked: “What prompted that?”

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac answered honestly. “He only does the scary face thing when he’s being protective.”

“And you think that means I’m having sex with Jehan.”

Courfeyrac pursed his lips. He wasn’t going to demand Enjolras tell him, but for fuck’s sake — he wasn’t an idiot. Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose tightly.

After a moment, he replied: “Yes.”

Courfeyrac’s face was surprisingly blank when Enjolras peered at him.

To be honest, Enjolras had expected… enthusiasm? A deluge of questions? Something. Courfeyrac’s silence caught him off guard.

The truth was that Courfeyrac was trying very, very hard not to picture them together. (He would later, certainly — but there was a time and a place.)

Enjolras looked away.

Courfeyrac reached out and took his hand. “Hey.” He threaded their fingers together. For some reason that had always meant more to him than any kind of reassuring but awkward hand squeeze. “Thank you.”

Enjolras kept his eyes on his bedspread, but he brushed his thumb over Courfeyrac’s fingers.

“Can I ask… why?”

Enjolras took a deep breath.

Courfeyrac’s expression suddenly became puzzled. “Why is this stuff so difficult for you to talk about?”

“I don’t know. It’s not— I’m… I have slept with Jehan. I am. I do… sometimes.”

Courfeyrac didn’t say anything. He seemed to be struggling not to smile.

“It’s not romantic,” Enjolras added.

“For either of you?”

Enjolras shook his head.

Courfeyrac made a quiet hum.

Enjolras glanced at him. “…you’re being strangely calm.”

Courfeyrac smirked. “I’m trying to digest the fact that you’re.. well…”

“Well?” Enjolras repeated.

“…open to sex.”

“Not with everyone, Courfeyrac.”

“Not even meeeee?”

Enjolras sighed, pulled his hand free of Courfeyrac’s, and rubbed his face. Courfeyrac smiled apologetically. “It’s not about sex for me,” Enjolras explained.

But Courfeyrac knew that. Well — he’d suspected it. Enjolras getting laid might have been a revelation, but some things only made sense in hindsight — Jehan’s tone, for example. He scooched closer. “I know, sorry. I was teasing. It’s Jehan, isn’t it?”

Enjolras peered through his fingers.

Courfeyrac sighed dramatically. “I’m not dumb, Enjolras.”

Enjolras answered in a bewildered tone: “I never said you were.”

“No, I mean— I’ve had a lot of sex, Enjolras.” Enjolras made a face. “I understand what you’re saying. It’s about control.”

It was — but Enjolras hadn’t quite wrapped his head around the reality of that yet. He’d been trying. He’d always wondered — but anything to do with sex, no matter how much time he spent with Jehan — was still frighteningly unfamiliar. As far as he was concerned, it had one purpose — it fulfilled that purpose — and he left it at that.

Courfeyrac swore. Enjolras’s eyes jumped to his face and narrowed.

“Fuck me! No— not literally. UGH, everything makes so much sense now.”

It clearly didn’t make sense to Enjolras who was still staring at Courfeyrac from behind his hands.

“You,” Courfeyrac explained. “You put so much pressure on yourself and you never relax— well, apart from this. This is how you relax. By letting Jeha— OH MY GOD, JEHAN’S A DOM?”

The look on his face suggested this was the greatest news of his life.

Enjolras closed his eyes with a quiet huff of laughter. Trust Courfeyrac to have his priorities in a very specific order.

Courfeyrac bit down on his fist and whined. There were so many things he wanted to know — there were so many questions! But at the same time, he was good enough to know he shouldn’t ask. He whined again and slowly pulled his hand away. “Combeferre knows?”

Enjolras nodded. “But only that it happens— nothing more than that.”

“And no one else?”

“Eponine. I have no idea how.”

“She’s clever like that,” Courfeyrac answered.

But silently he realised that if Eponine knew, then Grantaire certainly knew, too. Suddenly it felt like all the puzzle pieces of his friends’ lives were slowly sliding into place.

Someone knocked on the door. Enjolras and Courfeyrac exchanged glances before Enjolras asked: “Who is it?”

“Combeferre.”

Enjolras took a breath. Courfeyrac smiled and straightened up.

But Enjolras didn’t move. Instead he replied: “…is it important? Could you come back later?”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened.

On the other side of the door, Combeferre answered: “Of course.”

They were silent for quite some time after that. Enjolras eventually broke the stillness. “Courfeyrac.”

“What?”

“I know your curiosity is killing you.”

Courfeyrac grinned. “Yeah, but I don’t need to know.”

Enjolras almost rolled his eyes. “Just ask.”

Courfeyrac kept it together for all of five seconds.

And then he dissolved like a child in a candy store. He shifted, sprawling out on his stomach with his feet in the air and his chin in his hands. “Tell me everything— how’d it happen? /When/ did it happen? Do you actually have sex? Does Jehan top? No— really. Does he? I need to know.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile.


End file.
